affection. With her, as well as with her brother, ties were slowly
formed, though when once formed they were strong as adamant. She
contracted friendships rather from long association and mutual service
than from congeniality of disposition or sentiment. Mary had shared her
watch beside little Effie’s dying bed, had helped to tend Jamie during
his long illness, and had struggled and suffered with them through their
sorest trials;—these were cogent reasons for taking her at once to her
warm and honest heart. Nor was Archie less satisfied with his brother’s
choice; though he pertly suggested, that the sooner Mary Wigton changed
her name to a less objectionable one the better it would be for all
parties.
But there were difficulties about ways and means sufficient to have
perplexed much more thoughtful heads than Archie’s. James and Mary,
however, were quietly happy in the present, and therefore content to
“bide their time.” Upon one point they were both agreed: they must wait
at least until God was pleased to remove “the great plague and sickness”
from the city where they dwelt. Had not the worst been already over, the
matter would scarcely have become even one for deliberation.
The worst _was_ over. Joy and thankfulness were about to take the place
of universal sorrow and fear. Day by day, and more and more rapidly, the
number of deaths decreased. Life began to return to its usual course;
shops and other places of public resort were re-opened; people no longer
threaded their way cautiously through the middle of the streets,
jealously guarding themselves from every touch that might convey
infection, but began to jostle the passers-by on the footways, or to
stop and talk with their neighbours as in former times. Devout and
fervent were the thanksgivings that arose from many hearts; nor were the
Duncans and Mary Wigton among the least grateful of the inhabitants of
Dundee.
James Duncan was now anxiously seeking another situation. Since the
memorable day of Wishart’s visit the family had not known want; but they
were not of a temper to eat the bread of charity one hour longer than
was absolutely necessary. Besides, Jamie had now an object before him
sufficient to animate him to tenfold energy and activity. A very frugal
livelihood, it is true, would suffice for them. Janet and Mary could
help in various ways (for as a matter of course they were all still to
remain together); and it was fully time even for Archie to take the
matter of earning his own bread into consideration. But the first thing
necessary was, that James should procure employment. Poor in everything
else, the young man was rich in character; the family of his late
employer and many of his customers were ready to give him those “goodly
words,” which in certain cases are the reverse of useless. Still, for
some time his efforts proved unsuccessful; and he was beginning to feel
disheartened and seriously anxious, when a circumstance occurred which
diverted his hopes and his exertions into an entirely new channel.
Mary had gone out one day to take home some fine sewing which had been
given her through her friends the Browns; for people were again
beginning to care, not only for the necessaries, but for the elegancies
and superfluities of life. On her return, Janet surprised her with the
intelligence that no less important a personage than Maister Wilson from
the Nethergate had been inquiring for her, and requested her to call at
his house as soon as she could. Mary’s feelings towards the man who had
wronged her father had once been very bitter; for it is possible for
gentle natures to harbour very bitter feelings when those they love are
injured. She could not forget that her father’s desire to recover the
debt so dishonestly repudiated had occasioned the removal of the family
to Dundee, and been thus, in a manner, the cause of the troubles that
had ensued. But her resentment against this man was amongst the old
things that had passed away from her when the great change came over her
heart and life. When she found that he too had been smitten with that
terrible plague, she had not failed earnestly to pray that God would
have mercy both on his body and his soul; and it was with pleasure she
learned that his sickness was not unto death. Still the thought of an
interview was embarrassing; and the more so as the recollection of the
father to whom she had been so tenderly attached naturally came back
very vividly on her mind, and threatened almost to overcome her.
Not choosing, however, to defer a disagreeable duty, she at once
repaired to the mercer’s dwelling; and it was fully two hours before she
returned. When she did so, she looked agitated, and there were traces of
recent tears on her countenance. Seeing that Janet remarked them, she
said in explanation, “It’s no that I’ve been fretted, Janet; but it’s an
unco thing to think that Maister Wilson suld come to himsel the noo, and
make a’ richt between us—and my puir father in his grave.”
“Ye dinna mean to say he’s gien ye back the siller, lassie?”
“Ay, has he. Ilka plack and bodle o’t. Forbye, it’s a hantle mair than
the twa hundert merks, for there’s what he ca’s _interest_.”
“Eh, but that’s guid news!” cried Janet and Archie in a breath.
“I’m blythe to win it—for Jamie,” said Mary softly, and with a blushing
cheek.
“Hae ye brought it wi’ ye?” asked Archie.
“Na; I was fear’t to carry sae muckle gowd. I thocht Jamie wad gang and
fetch it for me.”
“Weel for him an’ he has nae waur wark to do,” said Archie.
“Maister Wilson maun hae gone clean wud, I’m thinking,” said Janet. “I
hae never heard the like! And naebody e’en speiring after the siller.”
It was a moment or two before Mary answered; and then she said, in a
quiet, reverent voice, “God has changed his heart, Janet.”
“And was _that_ what gared him pay the debt?”
“Just that. And he’s sair grieved to think of a’ the sorrow that he—”
here her voice faltered, and she stopped. “I telled him that was a’ bye,
and suldna be thocht on again. Forbye, God meant it for guid to me; for
ye ken, gin it hadna been for the siller we’d hae never come here, whaur
the true Word o’ God is preached. But he askit o’ my puir father, and
wad hear the haill story, sair vexed as I was to tell it. It gaed hard
wi’ him, Janet—he a’maist grat before I had done. And he said to me that
he kenned full weel God had forgien him, but he couldna forgie himsel. I
tried to gar him see that he suldna hae sic’ thochts; but I’m naebut a
puir body for words, and no gleg wi’ my tongue.”
“How did he find ye out, Mary?”
“I dinna just ken; gin it wasna through the guid folk wha hae helpit
Jamie. He has aft seen my face at the preaching, little dreaming wha I
was. Eh, but ye suld hae heard him talk o’ the preaching, Janet.”
At that moment Jamie entered, and was soon told the pleasant news. Mary
had now a “tocher” that many a lass in a higher grade might have envied.
“And it’s a’ anent Maister Wishart,” said Archie, “wha tells folk they
canna be saved for doing guid warks; and gars them do mair in a day than
a’ the priests in Scotland wadna in a year.”
A discussion of their plans naturally followed. The possession of this
sum of money removed most of the obstacles to Jamie and Mary’s union.
The first and apparently the most feasible proposition was, that Jamie
should undertake a shop of his own, in which Archie might assist. This
was not at all to Archie’s taste; but had his been the only dissentient
voice, it might still have been carried. Mary had been for some time a
silent listener to the conversation between Jamie and Janet, but when
directly appealed to by Jamie, she said gently, “I dinna doot it’s a’
richt, Jamie. Aiblins it’s the best thing we can do.”
“But I’m fear’t ye dinna like it, Mary.”
“Oh ay.” Then after a pause, and rather timidly, “Whiles I canna help
thinking lang for the bonnie Sidlaw Hills.”
“Wad ye like to gang _there_, lassie?” asked Jamie, eagerly.
“Oh, _brawly_,” answered Mary, with sparkling eyes. “An’ John tald me
father’s farm’s to let. But it’s a fule thocht,” she added; “ye couldna
mind a farm, Jamie.”
“It’s a’maist time I was awa’ to the Nethergate to Maister Wilson,” said
Jamie, evading a direct reply. But though he spoke little, he thought
much. Intensely anxious to gratify Mary, and conscious of his own power
to master almost anything in the way of business in which his strong
will was sufficiently interested, he revolved the plan she had suggested
in his mind. Now that he was possessed of the requisite capital, could
he not turn farmer, and thus secure, not only a comfortable livelihood,
but a healthy country home to Mary and Janet? Part of his own boyhood
had been spent with a relative in the country; and he had thus acquired
a taste for rural occupations, as well as a little elementary knowledge
on the subject. For the rest, he could engage competent assistance, and
feel his way, trusting to his natural shrewdness to protect him from
imposition. If he was imprudent, he had at least a very valid excuse.
“It will please Mary so much,” was a reason weighty enough to
counterbalance many difficulties.
His visit to Wilson proved much longer than he anticipated. The mercer,
a new convert to “Christ’s Evangel,” and full of life and zeal, was glad
to find a kindred spirit in Mary Wigton’s “weel-wisher.” A very short
time sufficed for the transaction of their business; and they then
entered into conversation upon the higher themes so dear to both their
hearts. Wilson was struck by the young man’s general intelligence, as
well as by his knowledge of the Word of God, which indeed had been his
meditation day and night since he obtained possession of it. No subject
makes strangers friends so quickly as this. Ere they parted, Jamie could
not help yielding to the impulse that prompted him to ask the advice of
Wilson upon the project Mary had suggested. Wilson thought it might be
accomplished, and volunteered his counsel and assistance, which in many
ways were very useful.
Anxious to perform a service for the family Mary was about to enter
which might in some degree atone for past injuries, he offered to take
the young brother, whom Jamie had casually mentioned, as his apprentice;
and if he liked the business, to establish him in life without cost to
his relatives. Archie’s future was just then a matter of serious
consideration to Jamie, and he was deeply grateful for an opening much
more eligible than any he could have dreamed of securing for him.
Having duly thanked Wilson on his brother’s account and his own, he
hurried home freighted with pleasant tidings. Great was his astonishment
when Archie declared that no persuasion could induce him to be bound to
a trade. He who in past days had so hated school, would now do anything,
possible or impossible, would work half the night, would live on one
meal a day,—if Jamie would only consent to keep him there for another
year. Most earnestly did he entreat his brother to grant him this boon;
but when pressed to say what he proposed doing at the year’s end, he
continued obstinately silent. Jamie reasoned, remonstrated, and finally
grew angry and threatened, all to no purpose. Even when an elder brother
performs a father’s part, he seldom possesses in full measure a father’s
authority.
Janet’s well-meant expostulations did not tend to smooth matters. Archie
was probably not mistaken in thinking that if he explained himself
freely, his practical sister would ridicule him as an absurd dreamer,
and he dreaded nothing in the world so much as ridicule. Therefore no
more could be got from him than this, “I willna be Maister Wilson’s, or
ony man’s ’prentice.” Jamie was fain to treat his extraordinary conduct
as the result of a fit of boyish naughtiness, and to tell him he would
give him until next morning to recover his senses.
Meanwhile the old farmstead on the slope of Dunsinnan, amongst the
bonnie Sidlaw Hills, grew fairer and fairer in prospect. Difficulties
seemed to vanish away upon closer inspection; and after a long happy
talk together that evening, Jamie said, “My mind is set to try it, Mary,
and I think God ’ill help me; for I hae askit him to show us the gait we
suld gang.” Very thankful was Mary for this decision. It was her
character to cling fondly to old cherished scenes and associations, and
even with Jamie she felt as if a narrow room in a crowded “land” could
scarcely ever be “hame” to her. Besides, he had not since his illness at
all recovered his wonted strength; and for his sake, as well as for her
own and Janet’s, she longed for those fresh mountain breezes that “sweep
disease on their breath away.”
A night’s reflection strengthened Jamie’s determination; neither,
unfortunately, did it alter Archie’s. Jamie, anxious to avoid a sinful
loss of temper on his own part, told the boy as quietly as he could,
that if he refused Wilson’s generous offer, he did so on his own
responsibility, and very much to his own disadvantage. He added, that he
could only maintain him by taking him with him to the country, where he
must expect to work hard and fare hard; and that as he did not see fit
to entrust him with the motives of his strange behaviour, he must at
least go with him to the Nethergate, thank the mercer himself for his
kind proposal, and give his own reasons for declining it. He was of an
age to speak for himself, Jamie said, and certainly in this instance
_he_ could not undertake to speak for him. To this Archie agreed, and
prepared to accompany his brother. A consciousness that all his friends
were displeased with him, made him sullen in manner and extremely
uncomfortable in feeling; but he was cherishing a purpose that he
believed in his heart of hearts to be a good and noble one, and like an
inconsiderate boy, he resolved upon pursuing it, without pausing to
reflect whether it was practicable or no.
“I’m sair fashed for Archie,” said Mary to Janet when he was gone. “The
callant has some notion or ither in his head, gin a body could come by
it. Do ye no mind how he’s changed, Janet? He’s grown sae douce and
still; and he’s aye and aye reading at ‘Maister Wishart’s wee bookie,’
as he ca’s it.”
To Jamie and Janet and Mary the New Testament was “God’s Word,” to
Archie it was only as yet “Maister Wishart’s book.”
“Hoot,” cried Janet contemptuously, “the laddie’s clean wud, that’s a’.
An’ I had my will, he suld e’en want his parritch till he fand his
wits.”
In the meantime Jamie and Archie walked silently to the Nethergate, and
soon found themselves in the mercer’s comfortable parlour. The rich man
greeted Jamie cordially, and noticed his young brother with frank
kindness, but he appeared grieved and pre-occupied.
“There’s news to-day,” he said, “mony a heart in Dundee ’ill be sair to
hear.”
“Is the sickness waur again, sir?” asked Jamie.
“No, God be praised, the sickness is a’maist gone; but I hae just seen
Maister James Wedderburn, wha’s weel acquaint wi’ Maister Wishart, and
its owre true he’s gaun awa’. Neist sermon ’ill be his last here.”
Jamie’s exclamation was drowned by a real cry of distress from Archie, a
cry that made Wilson turn and look at the boy more attentively than he
had done before.
“That’s ill news indeed for Dundee,” answered Jamie, with a face that
said more than his words. “But is it sure he maun gang, sir? Couldna the
Lord Provost or Maister Robert Mill, or Maister James Wedderburn, gar
him bide wi’ us?”
Wilson shook his head. “Na, na. He says ‘God has weel nigh put an end to
this battle, he finds himsel called to ane ither.’ But there’s mony
amang us ‘id gae thro’ a’ the trouble and dolour o’ this waefu’ year
again, anely to hae him still to comfort us.”
“God’s will maun be done,” said Jamie sadly. Then after a pause, “Does
aebody ken whaur he’ll gang the noo, sir?”
“Maister Wedderburn’s no sure yet. Aiblins to Montrose, whaur he first
began to preach, aiblins back to Kyle.” Some conversation followed upon
Wishart’s brief but brilliant ministry in the west. Jamie and Archie
knew very little of their venerated pastor, except what they had
themselves seen and heard. They listened therefore with much interest to
Wilson’s animated description of his “offering Goddis Woord” in Ayr and
the surrounding places. For everywhere, as amongst them, had he approved
himself the minister of God, “by pureness, by knowledge, by
longsuffering, by kindness, by the Holy Ghost, by love unfeigned.”
One story amongst others the mercer told them, which Knox has preserved
for us, bestowing upon the picture one or two of those rare touches of
grace and tenderness of which his strong bold hand was not incapable.
Having been invited to preach in the church of Mauchline, Wishart found
himself on his arrival excluded by the Sheriff and a strong party of
Romanists, who, acting under his orders, had seized upon the building.
The high-spirited gentlemen, his friends and adherents, were indignant
at this treatment, and vowed to enter the church by force. But the
servant of the Lord would not strive. Taking Hugh Campbell of
Kinyeancleugh, the most zealous of his followers, aside, he said to him:
“Brother, Jesus Christ is as potent upon the fields as in the kirk; and
I find that he himself more often preached in the desert, at the
sea-side, and in other places judged profane, than that he did in the
Temple of Hierusalem. It is the word of peace that God sends by me: the
blood of no man shall be shed this day for the preaching of it.” And so,
followed by all the people of the town, he withdrew to the hillside,
where they stood or sate around him while he preached from “a dyke in
the moor edge.” And Knox forgets not to tell us, that “God gave the day
pleasing and hote.” Modern church-goers may be surprised to hear that
the sermon lasted more than three hours; but the preacher knew his time
was short, nor were the hearers weary, for “the word of the Lord was
precious in those days.” And “in that sermon God wrought so wonderfully
with him, that ane of the most wicked men that was in that country,
named Laurence Rankin, laird of Sheill, was converted. The tears ran
from his eyes in such abundance that all men wondered.” And his life
thenceforward was such as to evidence the reality of the change.
Here Wilson paused, struck by the eager attention of his younger
listener. Archie’s bright young face was indeed glowing with interest
and enthusiasm; and the mercer, pleased with the boy’s appearance, felt
the more desirous to receive him into his household. He therefore asked
him kindly if his brother had told him of his proposal, and what he
thought of it.
“Ye’re unco guid, sir,” said Archie, so fired by all he had been hearing
that reserve and shyness were forgotten, “but I willna hae a trade. I
maun gang to the schule and learn my book. Aiblins God’ll gie me sae
muckle grace that when I’m a man grown I may preach his holy Word—like
guid Maister Wishart.”
Jamie stood aghast at this revelation of his brother’s ambition. Had the
friendless orphan boy declared his intention of one day becoming lord
provost of Dundee, or even lord high sheriff of Angus, he would have
deemed his aspirations comparatively moderate and reasonable. “Ye puir
fule callant!” he said, too deeply compassionate to entertain the least
thought of ridicule, “ye’ll no ever be like _him_. What gars ye cry for
the moon, like a senseless bit bairn?”
“Leave him his lane,” interposed Wilson. “He’ll no be the waur, ony
gait, for having dreamed that dream; and he’s like to be the better his
haill life lang.”
The famous words,
“Who aimeth at the sky,
Shoots higher far than he that means a tree,”
had not yet been penned; but they would not be so famous if they did not
embody a truth which thoughtful spirits had recognised and acted upon
long before.
Wilson then spoke to James Duncan about his plans; and having
ascertained his determination to remove to the country, he finally
offered Archie a home in his house for the next year; telling him he
might attend school with his own bairns and show what progress he could
make; and adding, for Jamie’s benefit, that if it seemed advisable, at
the end of that time, he might still be bound to the trade.
Archie “wasna blate,” as Jamie afterwards declared. He frankly and
gratefully embraced the proposal, leaving his brother little opportunity
for showing the reluctance he felt at accepting so great a boon from a
comparative stranger.
The brothers did not return as silently as they came. Their brief
misunderstanding had been swept away by a common interest and sympathy;
and if the elder remonstrated with the younger on the wildness of his
ambition, it was in the spirit of love and meekness. For he had reason
to fear that the boy had not yet in his own heart felt the power of the
truths that Wishart preached; and that what looked so like an ardent
attachment to the doctrines of the gospel, was, in fact, only the result
of a passionate admiration for the best and noblest man he had ever
known. Archie’s answers to the questions he put, though both frank and
intelligent, confirmed him in this opinion; and he warned him, gently
but faithfully, against the danger of self-deception. He was so far
impressed and sobered, that on his return home he actually allowed Jamie
to narrate to Janet and Mary all they had heard; not interposing a
single word until his brother told Wishart’s reason for leaving Dundee,
when he could not refrain from saying, “Eh, but I think it’s unco hard.
_Our_ troubles are bye noo, and we’re gaun to rest. An’ is _he_ naebut
to gang to some ither battle, aiblins as hard as this ane?”
“Ay, lad,” said Jamie, “there’s nae rest for the preacher o’ God’s Word
till God gies rest himsel. How could it be ony ither gait, sae lang as
the haill country lies in darkness and the shadow o’ death, and men are
deeing ilka day without the fear o’ God or the hope o’ heaven? Atweel,”
he added after a pause, “he’ll no ever ken here a’ the guid he’s done
us, and a’ the love we bear him for it; but an’ it’s no wrang, I like to
think whiles that we’ll get to tell him up yon in heaven. For doesna the
Book say that sic’ as we ’ill be the minister’s joy and crown o’
rejoicing in Christ’s presence by and by?”
“But I’m no just sure, Jamie,” said Mary thoughtfully, “that it’s richt
to leave a’ the doing and suffering in Christ’s cause to Maister
Wishart. What has the guid Lord done for him he hasna done just the same
for ilka ane of us?”
“But ye ken we canna preach, Mary,” remarked Janet.
“That’s owre true, Janet, but we can _live_. Forbye, Jamie, when we gang
to Dunsinnan, do ye no think we can tell our puir neebors the Word o’
God, and read them a wheen chapters out o’ the Book?”
“Sae we will, God helping us,” said Jamie. “Gin trouble suld come to us
for the same (I’m no saying it’s like to come, Mary, but ye ken it
_might_), we’d be blythe to thole it for his sake wha tholed the bitter
cross for ours.”
“Ony gait, Jamie, we’re unco safe in his keeping. An’ how weel he has
fended for us! I canna but mind that bit verse in the wee psalm book ye
bought me yestreen for a propine.[13] ‘The lot is fallen to me in a fair
ground: yea, I hae a guidly heritage.’”
“God be praised,” answered Jamie; “the year o’ the muckle sickness has
been the best year I hae seen in a’ my life.”
Many besides James Duncan could have borne this witness. The dark year
of Dundee proved one of the brightest in her history. Never before, and
perhaps never since, until the great revival of the present day, had
such numbers there been turned from darkness to light and from the power
of Satan unto God. It was but a little while until that light so
increased and brightened, that it chased the shades of darkness away
before it,—nay, until its beams, concentrated as in a burning-glass,
shrivelled to ashes the worn-out gauds and trappings of Romish
superstition. Dundee was the first of all the Scottish burghs that
declared for the Reformation; and by her whole-hearted steadfastness in
the good cause she won the honourable name of the Second Geneva.